(smosh) you know you want it
by ratsenpai
Summary: anthony helps temper ian's main distraction with good results.


Anthony's not expecting Ian to be on his tablet when he slides into bed next to him. "Are you going to put that thing away?"

"Just looking at a few pictures," Ian says casually, eyes still riveted to the screen. Anthony peers over his shoulder and frowns.

"Of me."

"Is there a problem?"

"I'm right here. And what are you—oh my God," he breathes, a laugh wheezing from his lungs.

Ian's got his dick in one hand, half-hard, palming the underside with slow, uneven strokes. He stops every once in a while to take in the details of a picture, the line of Anthony's soft jaw, the hard curve of his hipbones sprawled against the sheets in an early morning portrait of sleep. The pace of his hand quickens, forcing tiny huffs of air between his pursed lips. When he's finished looking, he uses his fisted hand to drag the tip of his dick across the screen. The picture changes.

"Oh, come on, don't do that—really? You're getting dick prints all over it."

"What do you think I do when you're not here?" He flicks his wrist and the picture scrolls to another, this time from an overhead view of Anthony, hair curled softly over his ears, eyes half-lidded, lips stretched wide around Ian's cock. Ian makes a soft noise of recognition in the back of his throat and his fingers tighten: this snapshot's obviously a favorite.

"Jesus." The tablet shifts wildly as Anthony bats at the screen. Half a dozen pictures flicker past, all of Anthony in varying poses of fellatio. "You keep those on there like that? What if it gets stolen?"

"They're password protected."

"Still." He pats Ian's thigh. "Put that away and come get the real thing."

Ian pushes the tablet aside and rolls himself on top of Anthony, mouth already busy against the soft skin of his neck. A groan works its way from deep within Anthony's chest when Ian rocks his hips forward, pushing his erection hard against the gap between Anthony's thighs.

"You like pictures," Anthony says quietly into his ear, a fist of Ian's hair wound in his fingers. "You like pictures of me. Of us. Like this."

Ian nods against his collarbone and flattens his tongue against the pink pebble of Anthony's nipple. Anthony's body shudders appreciatively into Ian's generous hands.

"How much?"

Another hip thrust, sharper this time. More abrupt. Translation: a lot.

Anthony smirks and reaches out to the phone on the side table and slides out from underneath Ian to lie sideways across the bed, limbs sprawled across the sheets.

"What are you doing?" Ian mutters thickly, voice garbled into Anthony's navel. "Can't you wait? I'm kind of in the middle of—"

"Here." Anthony holds his phone out. "Don't use your dick."

It takes a moment to register. Ian's eyes are still glassy, lips red from kissing. "I—what am I—oh. Anthony. Holy shit." A blush creeps into the apples of his cheeks as he scrolls through the pictures. "Did you take these yourself?"

"Mmm."

"When were these taken?"

Anthony shrugs, watching Ian's blue eyes pop slightly at the picture of Anthony, legs splayed, lips parted, gaze heavy and direct through tousled hair. Anthony's wearing an old shirt of Ian's, a little too big in the way it hangs off his shoulder, exposing a broad swath of smooth, pale skin. Ian's eyes rake lower and settle on the position of Anthony's hand in the photograph, two fingers knuckle-deep inside himself. He gasps.

"Fuck. Anthony."

"Mmm?" He leans in and kisses Ian roughly, tongue hot and insistent against the line of his teeth. Ian's mouth opens reflexively, pressing heated moans back into Anthony's lips. "Are they okay?"

"I—fuck, yes—"

"You'd better double password protect them," he says, a fierce edge creeping into his voice.

"Triple," Ian agrees readily, tossing the phone aside on the pillow. Anthony coaxes him down onto his back and retreats on all fours to straddle Ian's knees, mouth trailing sloppy kisses down the arc of his lower ribs and into the crease of his pelvis. Ian cards his hand through the wavy mop of Anthony's hair and sighs happily.

"Didn't know you had it in you," he admits, the thumb caressing the smooth line of Anthony's cheekbone.

"Take some more, if you want," Anthony remarks quietly, nuzzling the dark, wiry hair below Ian's navel. Ian exhales sharply in surprise, breath shaky and overwhelmed.

"Really?"

Anthony grunts, hand flinging vaguely towards the pillow where Ian had discarded his phone. In the next moment he's grasping Ian's cock at the base and swallowing him with unbridled enthusiasm. He takes him as completely as he can, lips nearly pressed aganst his fist as his cheeks hollow.

"Shit," Ian says into the crook of his elbow, his right hand searching for the phone. "Wasn't ready for you yet."

Anthony's lips meet in a soft pucker when he pulls back, shiny with spit. "You don't have to, you know," he murmurs slyly, eyes dark, twinkling with the challenge.

Ian's already got the screen trained on him. There's no way he's passing up this opportunity. He usually takes the pictures when Anthony's not paying attention, too engrossed in what he's doing to notice the phone until the white flash lights up the room.

"Keep going," he encourages, snapping a shot when Anthony sticks his tongue out to press against the slit of his dick. "Fuck, you're so hot."

"Keep it steady," Anthony instructs. "They're no good if they end up too blurry to see anything."

Ian takes a few more of Anthony's slow, deliberate nods, noting with pleasure the way Anthony never breaks eye contact with the camera. He's posing, he thinks, and something goes tight with satisfaction in his groin.

"I'm gonna—" he croaks, moments before he releases down Anthony's open throat, cock pulsing with each thundering crest of pleasure. Anthony laps it all up, swallowing neatly when he pulls his mouth off Ian's softening dick.

"Well?" He grins, eyebrows raised to his hairline.

"That was hot," Ian sighs, pulling Anthony up by the shoulders to kiss him hard against the mattress. "So hot."

"No, I mean my pictures. I want to see how they turned out." Anthony brushes him aside and dives for his phone. "Oh, no. These are shaky," he says, slightly dismayed. "You can't see a thing." He looks over his shoulder at Ian. "Sorry."

"Next time, maybe." Ian feels his dick stir when the idea of a second round crosses his mind. "Give me fifteen minutes."

* * *

 _welp, this happened lol_


End file.
